


Protect You In This Life

by charlotteof_denmark



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cannibalism, Character Death Fix, Character Study, Dark!Alana, Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Smut, alana is fucked up but still cool okay dont worry, but kids are annoying, obviously, oh and lets not forget, possibility of pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotteof_denmark/pseuds/charlotteof_denmark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alana and Hannibal's relationship continues after five years of separation. He's back, and she'd been waiting for him. Alana changes, Hannibal, not so much. They think that they're alone in their little world, but their love evolves and it becomes complicated, twisted and dark. </p><p>*Continues 'Each Other'*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our scars

**  
  
  
**

Forty-five minutes away from the city, in a house a bit in the middle of nowhere lived Dr. Alana Bloom. It was a long way just to get in front of the house, there were rocky trails between trees and a bridge going over a creek. She had been living there for the past few months, far off most people so she didn’t really need to talk to anyone, her lithuanian being very basic. The large brick house was a few centuries old, from what she understood when she bought it. It had big windows and doors. There were no balconies so she spent allot of time sitting on the edge of the windows. The kitchen had a gas stove with a separate oven. When she first came in, in June, everything was completely covered in dust and she found some spiders. There were old wooden furnitures all over the place. Chairs, children’s beds, benches. She sold most of them to an antique store in central Vilnius. Well, she didn’t really sell it, she exchanged it for a harpsichord. She found it absolutely beautiful and wouldn’t take her eyes off of it. The store’s owner laughed, and with a thick lithuanian accent, told her that he would take all of her unwanted furniture in exchange for it. He said that in 40 years, no one had ever bought it.

Alana had put the instrument on a carpet in the middle of the living room. There weren’t any light bulbs there so she kept the windows open all the time, the daylight making the harpsichord look magnificent. She often looked at the harpsichord, imagining someone playing it.

Alana didn’t work. She spent her time reading, cleaning, moving furniture around, gardening a little bit in the back, fiddling on the harpsichord, listening to music, and of course, walking Applesauce. She would be lost without her dog.

She waited and waited ever so long. She would have came here even without him giving her hope of meeting her, but she realized that without the hope of him coming, life would have been boring as death. She lost hope one day. It was a wonderful day, full of sunshine and chirping of birds in the woods. Alana did not mind waking up to them, in fact, she prefered it from her phone alarm. In the morning, she went to feed Applesauce and let her free to run outside. She then took a bath until her dog started barking to come back inside.

Later, she put on a white tank top and khaki pants before drinking her coffee.

Alana Bloom wondered why she didn’t live like this before. Her other life was all about skirts, dresses, high heels, makeup, doing her hair every morning, watching crap TV after work, reading the newspaper in english, sending emails to stupid people, smiling at people she didn’t even like, being professional.

Being in her late thirties, she felt younger than she ever did. There was no pressure here.

On that day, it was august, she went to cut some tulips in front of the porch to bring in the house. There were yellow and red ones, and she calculated six of each. They would die in fall anyways. As she gathered them together, she heard the sound of a car engine approaching. It wasn’t noisy, just surprising. She froze at first, and when it stopped, she turned around. She didn’t know who’s car it was.

A man came out of it wearing a light blue shirt with rolled up sleeves and linen trousers stepped out of it. He had sunglasses, but Alana would have recognized him in any way. He looked at the house from top to bottom, shutting the door closed. Then he removed his shades and his eyes fell on her.

‘Well. You found a nice home. Quite far though...’ he said. It was the first time she heard his voice in almost six years.

Alana dropped the flowers and ran to him. Hannibal took her in his arms tightly, maybe compensating for all this time he was unable to touch her, or to even see her. She draped her arms around his neck smiled in the crook of his neck before inhaling deeply. ‘Sveiki atvykę namo,’ she whispered, almost accentless.

He pulled her out of the hug but still held her. ‘Did you just say ‘welcome home’ in lithuanian?’ he questioned.

She placed her hands on his forearms. ‘I’ve been learning.’

They took the bags and suitcases to the house and Alana showed him around. She kept the living room for last. He placed some plastic bags on the counter of the kitchen, putting some of the food in the fridge. Allot of it was meat, but as she watched him take them out, she saw tags on them, proving it was from the store. For a moment she wanted to ask about that but she decided to keep that for later.

When they were done unpacking, she took his hand.

‘Come here,’ she told him.

They walked to double sliding doors which she opened. He saw the harpsichord and approached it, carefully as if it was an untamed dog. Alana leaned against the frame of the door staring with a frown. He played one note. Then another. He didn’t sit down, he simply tested the notes. It was good to see him, but she had questions. So many questions.

Later that day, Hannibal started cooking, his good old activity of which he was deprived during his incarceration. He prepared something with fish.

Alana brought a bench to the counter, not too far from the stove where he was working and raised her voice.

‘Am I giving you sanctuary?’ she asked.

He didn’t look at her but said, ‘Not for now.’

‘What do you mean, not for now?’

He placed a cover on the pan. ‘I’m not wanted. Not yet.’

She searched for his gaze, or rather his honesty. ‘How did you run away?’ she asked.

He looked at her. ‘Five families are grieving the death of prison guards.’

She licked her lip. ‘Baltimore State hospital for The Criminally Insane is maximum security, Hannibal. There have been no escapes in fifty-two years, and it opened fifty-two years,’ she said.

‘Mh... Until now.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Do you know what risks you put me in?!’ she snapped.

‘Alana...’

She got off her bench, pointing a finger up. ‘No, no, no, no, don’t ‘Alana’ me. If they find you, they find me. How many murders are you accused of?’

He stepped closer. ‘Accused of, admitted to or have committed?’

It took her a moment to register that. ‘Didn’t you admit to every murder in court?’

Questions against questions. This was terrible.

He put a firm hand on her shoulder. ‘Quid pro quo,’ he said.

She looked extremely confused and angry. ‘What?’

‘Quid pro quo. You tell me something, I tell you something. Starting now,’ he explained, releasing her shoulder.

She noticed something important; he had not kissed her since he arrived.

‘Fine,’ she started. ‘How many people have you killed in your entire life?’

‘Within seventy. I cannot be very precise with this one, I’m sorry,’ he told her, too calmly.

She closed her eyes, expecting to be disgusted, but she was not. ‘So, your turn.’

‘Will you stay with me?’ he asked, darkly.

Alana walked closer so there was no distance between their chests. She brought a hand to the side of his head, noticing his hair had grown. ‘Yes... Of course,’ she murmured apologetically.

He brought her even closer by placing an arm across her back. He bent down to kiss her very softly, pressing his lips to hers like he was afraid to break her in a million pieces. He pulled back to look at her, shifted his head and kissed her again with more passion, getting to know her all over again.

His other hand went to the curve of her waist and pushed her hips against his. Immediately, her two hands went to his belt.

He took them away. ‘Later, my dear, later,’ he whispered, pulling back.

Alana wasn’t used to this anymore. She hadn’t had allot of sex in her life, and most of it had been with Hannibal. She’d had no one in five years. He, on the other hand, seemed to have prepared this for a long time. He undid her hair. Removed her tank top. Lay her down, then he pushed her hair away from her face, wanting to see her completely. Hannibal took the rest of her clothing away, leaving him overdressed for this situation. She unbuttoned his shirt and he helped her take it off. In the faint light of the bedroom, she saw bruises on his chest and shoulders, as well as bandages on his stomach. Alana looked at what had happened to his body, touching the dark blue spots, barely brushing over them.

‘What...?’ she said quietly.

He leaned down to kiss her neck and attract attention elsewhere. ‘Shh...’ he hushed her.

Soon after, they were skin to skin, no barrier between them. Hannibal felt as if he’d been courting her all this time and this was the wedding night when they could finally consume their relationship.

He started kissing lower and lower, but she stopped him. ‘Hannibal, please, I want you now,’ she told him.

So he quickly went back up, dipping two fingers into her, looking for a response. He was fascinated by every single way she responded at whatever he did to her. This time, her breath simply hitched. Her right leg went over his hip and she writhed against his hand, yearning for more. Hannibal went close to her ear.

‘Tell me when, mylimasis,’ he said.

His thumb went to her clitoris. ‘Now,’ she moaned.

She took him in her arms and while he held her still against the bed, he marked his dominance by thrusting one hard time into her. He kept his face in the crook of her neck, every groan he made tickling her skin. Her nails dug in his back and he gave another forceful thrust. Alana gasped, not only at the feeling of him finally inside her, where she needed him to be, but at what he became. He was so much more animalistic than he used to be, he did not politely retain sounds or go gently at first. He whispered inaudible words in his language, the ones she had yet to learn. The simple fact of him breathing on the sensitive skin of her collarbone satisfied the lack of human touch she suffered.

Hannibal found that anything he did was enough to make her whimper. As his rhythm settled, he touched her everywhere. He wanted to touch her. Her skin was almost feverishly hot. Her hips started bucking as she got closer. He kept a steady hand on one of her breasts, fondling it painfully, the way she liked it. His other hand pushed on her hip, keeping her still.

‘Hurt me...’ she demanded, out of breath.

He brought his mouth to her cheek, grazing his teeth on them, making Alana anxious on where he would bite. It intoxicated her, drugged her. He went under her jaw, pulling on the skin there. His movement quickened when he felt her walls tightening around him.

He grabbed her arms, moving them above her head, just as she came, writhing and screaming. Almost simultaneously, he did, yelling her name.

He nearly collapsed on top of her, but used his final strength to pull out slickly. Alana breathed out.

‘Alana,’ he started, trailing a hand from her chest to her abdomen. ‘Let me taste you. Just once.’

She nodded, still breathless.

Hannibal got off her and kneeled between her thighs to separate them. He carefully licked her, trying not to touch the oversensitive bundle of nerves. He cleaned her out, tasting himself, but mostly her, the taste that brought back memories of times when he could never be completely himself in front of her; now he could.

It didn’t matter anymore. It didn't matter what he was. Everything was fine.


	2. Closing doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana wants Hannibal to be more open with her. She immediately regrets asking him about something.

**  
  
**

Alana stepped out of the shower in the morning, pulled on a white robe and tied it around her waist. She looked at herself in the mirror and decided to comb her hair. She tried to act like it was just any other day, except it wasn’t. A murderer came into her life and she accepted him. It was so unlike her. He wasn’t one of those stereotypically perverted, dirty and drug addicted killers with greasy hair. Hannibal was so much more, and for the past few days, she couldn’t get over herself. All the power, and the strength was in her hands. She could tell on him anytime she wanted. She could destroy him.

If she wanted to.

If.

There was an ounce of morality left inside her. She used it to have an excuse to call herself stable. Well, in a way she was stable. Darkly stable.

Many things that used to be wrong were now... fine in her opinion.

It started when Hannibal gave her drugs to sleep. Also, he’d given her one session of hypnosis. One could be enough to change a person. Her life wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be straight and professional. She was never supposed to even set foot in a northern european country. For starters, she never should have begun working for the FBI. Her parents had sent her to medical school to become a physician, not a profiler. Life shouldn’t have been like this. Alana obsessed about that thought as she applied lotion to her face, inspecting her skin. But then she remembered, everyone looked at their life that way. Destiny was strange, if not God.

The sound of the harpsichord resonated to the second floor, where she was. It was an unknown song, maybe a composition.

Hannibal Lecter played, in the hope of gaining her attention. He composed this song during his first year living with his uncle, at that time there was no harpsichord, it was a simple piano in the dining room. As a young man, he played for himself when he was all alone, and most of all for his beloved aunt. Hannibal was sure that she was still alive somewhere. He did not really miss her. Alana was with him. She probably didn’t think it that way, but he made her. He just... made her.

The way she was now was almost irrelevant to who she was in the past. She was still Alana Bloom with all her gutsiness, intellect and carefulness. He noted just how careful she was as he heard her tiptoe down the stairs and in the living room, not making any noise. He still heard her, his precious Alana, breathing quietly. He collected the different scents he picked up as she got closer to him. A hint of lavender, ordinary scentless soap, neroli oil and something warm; just the smell of her.

Alana put her hands lightly on his shoulders. He found this considerate, since he was in a pretty bad shape. She stood there until he was done before sitting next to him on the bench.

‘Well,’ she sighed. ‘How is this going to be?’

His hand tucked her damp hair behind her ear. ‘Like this.’ His response was unsatisfying.

‘You’ve been here for three days Hannibal. I have no idea what’s happening in Maryland but they will find you.’

He took her chin for her to face him. ‘They won’t,’ he assured her. If they do, I will kill them.

Hannibal went to the kitchen and she followed him halfway, turned him around and stood on her toes to meet his lips. He welcomed her, leaning down to kiss her amorously. He pulled back and she told him she was going to dress up. Alana took the habit of locking doors behind her when they weren’t in the same room. She could not help her own fear of dying in his hands. Like her, he had all the power in the world. She couldn’t trust him. Not for now. Maybe not ever. He knew that and completely understood it. Even in the far away land, he didn’t change. Hannibal wondered if Alana thought she could change him. It wasn’t as if something had made him this way. He couldn’t be reduced to a set of influences. Nothing made him happen. He happened. Those words echoed in his head as he cut up an orange in thin slices.

Alana unlocked the door and walked out of the bedroom in jeans and a flannel shirt. She didn’t bother with makeup. Not anymore. The old her would take 15 minutes to look pretty. But this was the new her.

Down the staircase, Applesauce whined by the front door and Alana opened it for her. She ran off to bark after little insects. She felt nostalgic, watching her roll in the grass. How happy Will’s dogs would have been here.

They ate and drank coffee silently while Hannibal casually read the daily newspaper, which was in lithuanian of course. Alana spoke up.

‘I need you to tell me things,’ she said, lowering her mug.

‘I’m all ears,’ he answered, folding his newspaper.

She shifted in her chair, placed her coffee on the table and crossed her arms. ‘Be honest.’

‘I do not intend to keep secrets from you, Alana.’

‘Okay,’ she murmured, looking down. ‘You didn’t admit to the murder of Abigail Hobbs. What does that mean?’

‘Tell me. Enthrall me with your acumen.’

She gave him half a smile. But then she frowned and looked away, seemingly devastated.

Hannibal found her facial expressions interesting, so he leaned on the table, waiting.

‘No... No, not Abigail. Where is she?’ she said, forcing her voice to be calm.

He took her wrist. ‘Worry not, my dear. She’s fine.’

She went stiff under his touch.

‘Where is she?’ she repeated, sounding stern.

‘In Marseille, France. I’m afraid you can never see her anymore.’

She let that sink in for a while. They were in the same continent, and that was strangely reassuring, even though she was far away. But Abigail wasn’t even 18 at the time of her death.

‘Abigail is in perfect health. There is no need to be worried. I deported her a few months after her case was closed. I drove her to an airport in North Carolina to avoid suspicion. She goes under another name now. I haven’t heard from her in a few months, she told me in her last letter that she was studying french literature.’

And then, Alana’s hand pulled away from his. She had not expected this. Someone she was convinced to be dead was now a grown woman, somewhere in France, probably living extremely well with a credit card Hannibal paid at the end of the month. Alana wasn’t even sure if she should be happy or angry. She felt neither. Maybe a bit of deceit. Abigail Hobbs was not dead. Why did Hannibal take the normal life she had away from her? Well... It wasn’t an ordinary life. Her own father took it away from her. Poor, poor little Abigail, all alone in the world. So alone with her secrets. Alana figured she may not know all the secrets between Hannibal and Abigail. And Will Graham, as a matter of fact.

‘I told her before she left that if she ever tried to come back to the United States... I would kill you,’ he continued.

Alana swallowed hard. That was completely uncalled for. She got off her chair, still in shock.

Hannibal seemed to regret his words. ‘Alana, please look at me,’ he pleaded.

Their eyes met briefly and then she said, ‘I’m going to walk outside for a while...’

And that was when Hannibal realized something. He needed to make her accept him, the whole him. He needed to make her, build her, make her his completely. After, he would let her go. But she would stay. He could drown her down so deep in his world that he could enter her mind, control it, make her his and his alone. He could play with her, turn her into something different. As far as she let him, of course. Hannibal Lecter always made sure that people let him inside their heads.

As he waited for her, he made good use of being alone to open his five crates of books and place them in the half empty library in the big living room. The books were his, while in jail he ordered them, but they took all of the metal stitches off them. So before putting them up on the shelves by subject, like he always did, Hannibal fixed them. He’d bought a special kind of glue on his way to Vilnius to put the loose pages back together.

As he did this, he heard Alana come back. It had been an hour. She didn’t search for him, she simply went straight upstairs. He smelled something musky and earthy as she passed in front of the living room door. She had gone running, with Applesauce perhaps.

Hannibal found a large and thick envelope between a documentary about evolution and a novel called l’Homme Qui Rit. He slid it out remembering what it was. If he inhaled it very closely, it smelled like a young girl’s perfume, something fresh and clean. It also smelled like cheap ink and expensive french paper.

Hannibal knew Alana’s little game of locking the door. When he came upstairs to see her, the door was wide open. The woman he loved lay on her side, curled on Hannibal’s part of the bed. She might have been too exhausted to shut the door. He walked up to the bed and lay the broken white envelope on the cover of the bed that was still strange to him. A very light blue with minuscule flowers. The bed dipped as he pressed a palm on it, getting closer to her.

He kneeled by her to bend and kiss her temple, moving her hair out of the way.

‘Why are you doing this to me Hannibal?’ she hissed slowly.

He mouthed her neck chastly, tasting the salt. ‘You attune me,’ he replied. ‘You always have,’ he said, so low it sounded haunting.

She shivered and he stopped, placing a hand on her thin bicep. ‘You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?’ she taunted. She knew the answer, and she knew the truth. They were two different things.

‘No.’

She shrugged him off.

So, he walked off and before closing the door he told her, ‘When you’re ready, read what I left you on the end of the bed.’

Nothing.

‘No more closing doors, Alana.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! I hope you liked it. I got my muse back after the terrible ending we witnessed on friday. PRETEND NOTHING HAPPENED.  
> Anyways, thanks for reading!   
> (expect porn/character study in the next chapter because reasons)


	3. Follow you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal needs Alana to accept him, no matter what it takes.

Knock-knock.  
‘Chai?’ he asked, waiting behind the door.  
In her study, Alana spun around on her chair, closing her laptop. In her office at the FBI, she would always wear high-heels, even alone. Here, in her house, their house, she walked barefoot. She opened the door, not unlocking it. He gave her a hypnosis session last night and the doors were never locked since then. He knocked though; Hannibal was never impolite. He needed to gain her trust.  
He handed her a small flowery cup and a saucer, smiling.  
She looked at it suspiciously, but took it anyways and took the first sip in front of him to his great pleasure. He brushed a hand to her cheek and kissed her forehead tenderly before leaving. She heard him going downstairs and she finished her tea, going back to her laptop. Alana wasn’t really working, she was mostly writing and going through her notebooks to transcript them on a document. The human mind still fascinated her as always; there was constantly more things to learn, to discover, to analyze. Right now, she was analyzing the man she shared a roof with. Whatever they had, it was a domestic relationship. Even with his body warmth so close to her when they slept, with the words of wisdom coming out of his mouth, with the slight move of his wrist when he turned the pages of a book, she saw him as something so strange, so sordid and ungodly that it took her the patience of assembling a puzzle to figure him out. A question a day, she said to herself. A question meant an entire day of explanation. At least, that was Alana needed.  
Seven minutes later approximately, Hannibal went back upstairs, finding his Alana fast asleep on the big chair in front of her computer. He went behind her, sensing the steady pulse on her neck. He was satisfied by this and he hooked his hands underneath her elbows, straightening her on the chair. She would sleep deeply for a good five hours. He had time.

A few hours later, she woke up, a bit puzzled. There was a green post-it note stuck on her computer screen in front of her.  
 _Loin roast tonight, my dear?_  
 _H._  
She narrowed her eyes at that, re-reading it several times. It was his normal handwriting, all cursive and fancy. It didn’t say what kind of loin.  
Alana put all her files back in a drawer underneath her wooden desk. Maybe Hannibal had read them while she slept. She got up, stretching a little bit, walked out and went to the bathroom. She felt surprisingly well, rested. He gave her drugs again. She accepted them. The tea... Why did she accept it? It was maybe some kind of acceptance to living with a monster. Hannibal found that her reactions were similar to someone suffering from Stockholm syndrome. She let herself be coveted by him, yet she remained independent. She accepted his position of dominance over her, but he let her free, released her when he thought he could trust her. Hannibal did not possess her as someone keeping chains around her ankles, never letting her go. He knew how smart and clever she was. He took advantage of that. He sat her down, put her in hypnosis, woke her up and watched her react to it.  
Alana washed her hands for no reason. The water froze her hands, making her know she was alive, here in this moment.  
Down the stairs she went, hearing the shuffling louder and louder. It sounded like someone opening pots, wrapping things in plastic. He hummed lightly. She walked and walked, slowing her pace when she got closer.  
In the kitchen, Hannibal Lecter wrapped parts of meat. There were organs in ziploc bags laying on the breakfast table, he took one at a time and stored them neatly.  
He put something in the freezer and looked over his shoulder and saw her, gray sweater and jean shorts. Above all he saw her frowning gaze, questioning. ‘Ah, there you are. I was about to go check on you.’ He shut the freezer door and selected a knife off the counter. ‘Slice the ginger?’ he asked.  
She went near him, facing him.  
He saw she was not responding to this, so he took the ginger out of the fruit basket and started cutting it in thin slices, slowly taking his eyes off her. She stayed in place. Her breathing was becoming excessive, and he ignored that.  
‘How’s your work going? I like the paragraph on--’  
She slapped him. Hard. Hannibal remained immobile for a moment, eyes shut.  
Alana desired tears in her eyes. They wouldn’t come. As if she had no reason to feel betrayed. ‘Who did you kill?’ she mouthed.  
Hannibal dropped his knife.  
‘Are you still killing people?’ she said, even lower. Her voice trembled.  
He cupped the nape of her neck with a gentle, careful hand. His hands were always warm. ‘Alana, Alana, Alana... Stay blind. Go sit down and I’ll--’  
She slapped him again, with the other hand.  
‘Shut up.’  
His hand on her neck tightened. She sucked in a quick breath. ‘Your hands are so cold. Are you cold, my dear? Will you let me take care of you?’ his voice seemed honest.  
He took her and pressed her against his chest. He was being frighteningly gentle. She wondered if this is how he treated Abigail Hobbs after she died.  
He took her hand without saying a word and took her upstairs. He took her to their bedroom. He released her and she went to sit on the perfectly made bed that he bothered to make every morning. He went to dim the light, close the door, lock it. She wondered if her fear showed. Or if he could smell it.  
He kneeled in front of her, between her legs. He unbuttoned her shorts, removed them, then slipped off her sweater, revealing her breasts, the nipples hard from either arousal or stress. He breathing pace changed. He noted that. His lips met the pale skin of her collar bone. He kissed it softly a few times, remaining there, in front of her.  
‘Now... I want you to listen to me carefully. Answer my questions. Can you do that?’ he asked, inspecting her breasts one at a time, touching them.  
Alana wanted to stay still so badly, but she tensed against his touch. ‘Yes,’ she said.  
Hannibal chuckled at that.  
The only thing between them was her thin black underwear. He touched her there, between her legs. This was not for the purpose of her pleasure. It was completely experimental. Yet, she jerked into his hand. She wasn’t wet. So he waited and attended elsewhere. He covered one nipple with his lips, licking it.  
‘Do you like this?’ he asked, looking back at her.  
She shook her head. ‘No.’  
He caressed her thighs in concern. ‘How would you like me to do it?’  
‘You have to... Hurt them more,’ she told him.  
It was what he wanted to hear. So, he went to the opposite breast, bit down in random areas, making her scream in pain. He moved his hand to the other one, groping it hard, palming it, digging his nails in them. She screamed.  
‘Shhh...’ he hushed her, gentling his hand, as if he was soothing the painful area.  
Her hand grasped his neat shirt, wanting.  
He started speaking again, moving back to her thighs, tugging on her underwear. ‘Now, now. I want to know something, Alana.’ He took her cold hand again. ‘Come here.’  
She shuddered and followed him. Hannibal sat against the head of the bed. He gestured her to sit between his legs. She did, leaning her back on his chest. He quickly removed her underwear when she sat. He was not hard against her lower back, she noticed. His hand went on her stomach. It traveled lower, where she yearned him to touch her.  
‘Do you love me?’ he asked, his hand over her sex, laying there.  
She sighed. ‘No.’  
Lies. ‘Of course you don’t.’  
Two fingers entered her, making her gasp and arch against his chest. He used his other arm to hold her hips in place. He wanted to touch her breasts again, but he also wanted her to stop moving so much. His fingers thrust in her. She was completely wet and tight. It was time for the next question.  
He deepened his fingers, making her grab his hair. ‘Who does this belong to?’ he groaned near her ear.  
‘It’s mine.’  
His thumb pressed harshly to her clitoris. She threw her head back, screaming. Everything was so sudden. ‘Who does this belong to?’ she asked again.  
‘It’s yours...’ she was in such pain. His arm pushed her hips too hard. ‘God, it’s yours...’  
He smiled to himself. ‘That’s right.’  
He continued his ministrations casually. Sometimes she arched, sometimes she only moaned.  
Hannibal continued. ‘If it’s mine...’ he shoved in a third finger to the knuckle. ‘Will you let me do what I want with it? Now, just now, Alana. You’ll be free later.’ This time, he wanted true permission. Still he clinged to her painfully.  
‘Yes.’  
He withdrew his fingers, but kept them there, soaking her, running them up and down across her incredibly warm cunt. She was ready. At the same time, Alana felt him become harder on her behind. He hummed in her ear, soothing her.  
Moments later, Alana lay, two pillows behind her lower back, her legs spread, as she cried. Hannibal used all his force on her, groaning and moaning demonically, fucking her. She yelled his name with burning tears running down her face. Hannibal was sweating. The water on his body was not tears, but beads of sweat, trickling. This was merely psychological. He wasn’t intending to use her sexually. He was making something very clear.  
‘There is no need to cry,’ he rasped. She feared where his raising hand was going, and it slapped her left breast.  
‘Enough...’ she pleaded. ‘Enough.’  
Just then he came, and so did she. He stopped moving in her, but grabbed her hips so that she would let him soften in her to the last moment.  
He lay her down on her side of the bed, covered her with the sheets and removed the sweaty strands of hair from her forehead. He checked for damage, on her hips, which were red and sensitive when he brushed his hands on them. Her breasts would surely have bruises tomorrow. Alana kept her eyes closed, resting.  
He sat next to her. I’m sorry.’  
She didn’t answer anything, she just gave him a little ‘Hm.’  
‘I will not touch you again until you give me permission.’  
Alana moved, wiping tears away from her eyes. ‘You kill people and you want my permission to fuck me? J’ai mon voyage,’ she said, thickly. There was no expression in her voice.  
He smiled sadly at that.  
Alana didn’t feel used. She felt raw physically, but she knew that somehow this was relevant to something Hannibal was trying to obtain from her. She felt powerless. Maybe she would try to get her power back one day.  
‘Now that you are calm and comfortable... You are comfortable, my love, aren’t you?’  
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him.  
He rested against the pillows. ‘Is there anything you want?’  
‘I want to ask you things about the letters... But first, can I rest?’  
‘Of course. Your eyelids are very, very heavy. Your legs are asleep... Your arms are asleep... You’re going down... deeper... no matter how far you go.... my voice follows you... deeper now...’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW OKAY pardon the dub-con.  
> Sorry.  
> Ps: 'J'ai mon voyage' is an expression that allot of french canadians use. It translates as 'I've had enough!' or 'I don't believe this.'  
> Thanks!!!!


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange letters and PILLOW TALK.

‘Hannibal, you have something in the mailbox,’ Alana shouted from the porch.

He put down the silverware he had been cleaning, the same old habit, and he leaned sideways to see Alana entering the house.

She had three letters in her hands. ‘Actually, you have two. There’s also a new supermarket opening next week apparently.’

She went inside the kitchen, putting the two personalized letters on the counter and putting the advertisement one in the trash can. Hannibal wiped his hands on his apron before taking it off. Alana put a hand on the counter and tilted her head, scolding.

‘Something wrong?’ he questioned, trying a little smile.

She hated it when he asked her that question. The ‘wrong’ used to be cured with some beer and a listening ear. There was so much wrong right now. ‘Read them. In front of me.’

He looked down. Then back at her. ‘Yes. You’re right. The white one with no return address is from Abigail. I gave her our address.’

She took that it, nodding. ‘Okay. Fine. That one then?’ she pointed at the gray envelope.

He frowned. ‘I have to admit... I have no idea. I don’t know that address, and the name of the sender is a simple V.’

Hannibal opened Abigail’s letter, read it thoroughly and passed it to Alana.

_Hannibal,_

_I know very well that you are insane, but I didn’t think you were crazy enough to run away from a maximum security prison._

(Alana figured that Hannibal had already sent Abigail a letter when he arrived in Lithuania).

_Please don’t hurt Alana. Don’t hurt Will. You said to me six years ago, the last time we saw each other, that you and me were just the same. If we are, then you can try being like me. I stopped. I stopped for you. Why don’t you stop for us? Don’t pretend you have stopped because I know you haven’t. Be careful Hannibal. Be careful with Alana. She deserves better than you. Stop for her, if not for me. Or maybe you’re afraid to._

_I’m making my own money now. I work for a literature museum, you know, just analyzing stuff. My french is pretty fluent. You’d laugh at my accent though._

_I can’t write much because I’m heading to work._

_Thank you for everything, by the way. I really feel grown-up now. I don’t feel fragile or frightened. Since you’re out of jail, will I meet you soon?_

_Love,_

_Abigail_

Alana grimaced in denial. She felt like she was reading something a ghost had written. Hannibal looked at her. He didn’t appear concerned or guilty.

‘Well...’ she started.

‘Yes?’

Alana’s eyes met Hannibal’s. The blue of her irises almost blinded him. This man cut a girl’s ear off before sending her off to a foreign country, shoved it down his friend’s throat, framed him for her murder in order for her to be able to walk freely away from assisting to her dad’s murders and Nick Boyle’s. Alana found it to be an incredible proof of love. Also an incredible proof of being an asshole because Hannibal partly did this for himself, to escape from his own faults.

‘Alana? Shall we open the next letter?’

She then figured out the second rule of living with a cannibalistic murderer with a refined taste for wine; don’t overreact about anything, or do so privately. The first rule was not to be rude.

‘Sure,’ she said, suddenly.

‘Let’s sit,’ he proposed.

They went to the big dining room, sat down side by side and Hannibal ripped the letter not so carefully. He held it out so they could both read it simultaneously.

_Hello, old friend_

_Or rather old psychiatrist. I don’t know which one. Anyways, you might not recognize my handwriting because my sister is kindly writing this for me. This is partly from the both of us. Come on Doctor, you know who this is. Sorry again about stabbing your chair five years ago. Well, I guess you avenged yourself pretty well, I am in a pity state at the moment. My sister takes great care of me, you could say that. She won’t come closer than one meter away from me though. I do miss her nice warm hugs._

_Anyhow._

_This is a warning. I’ve successfully forced my sister to tell me what you told her while in therapy. You told her to kill me! Dear God! Such rudeness, Dr. Lecter. My sister would never hurt me. I’m all she’s got._

_As I was saying, this is a warning. Margot highly advised against me, but I don’t listen to her. I’ve got men who will find you. I know where you are. I know you’re with that lady psychiatrist who went missing. Us Vergers don’t let things be. Everything is our business. You’re my business. Now Dr. Lecter, I have a list of people to talk to, if you know what I mean, if you don’t give me what I want. What I want is a chase. A hunt. Anything thrilling will do. When we find you, I swear we will kill you._

_Thank you for your comprehension,_

_Mason Verger_

‘What--’ Alana started. Mason Verger was after Hannibal? She knew how Hannibal hated him, how rude and disgusting he was to his sister.

Hannibal took her hand. He never told her about the face peeling. He would never tell her that.

She took a deep breath. ‘Okay. I’m not overreacting here. But someone is going to kill you. So... What are your plans?’ she asked in a slightly sarcastic tone.

‘We can leave. Tomorrow. Don’t worry,’ he told her, squeezing her hand.

‘Can you please stop telling me not to worry? I am not your child or your protégé. Don’t lower me. I’m allowed to be aware of things and worry about you,’ she snapped, but kept her hand underneath his.

She sometimes felt overpowered by him. It hurt her deep inside that he would do everything in his capacity to make her fall at his feet and accept who, or rather what he was. She had the most utter respect for him. Hannibal won her heart every day. She just wanted that respect to be mutual.

‘I apologize for making you feel that way.’ He brought her hand to his lips, pushed her sleeve down kissing her knuckles and discretely inhaling her scent. Nothing unusual.

‘Apology accepted.’ She put her hand back on her lap. ‘Now let’s go to bed.’

And they went.

They wrestled a bit to be on top, pushing each other into the mattress, but Alana finally won. Hannibal sighed, laying back, holding her hips. He held her down for a moment, not allowing her to move up. She leaned on his broad shoulder with one hand and asked, ‘What are you doing?’

‘Wait...’ he shuddered quietly, feeling her, settling inside her like this was the last time. He shut his eyes, not needing to see her. Sight was useless when he could touch, smell and hear. She was everything. She touched his chest, his stomach, where she could see scars even in the dim light of the room. The bandages were off. The bruises were fainting. His hands relaxed and she started moving over him.

After, she was careful not to collapse on him, but next to him, as close as possible. Hannibal put an arm around her, closed his eyes and groaned in contempt. His index drew little circles on her spine. They often ended up like this. Alana usually said something witty, or comment on Hannibal’s performance, except this time she didn’t.

It took a long time before she spoke up. ‘Hannibal?’ she whispered.

‘Hm?’

‘Who... Who hurt you?’ she asked.

The circles on her back stopped. ‘When escaping I... almost died.’ Death seemed like a usual subject.

There was a silence. Her hand went up to his sternum.

‘Instead I murdered five guards. It was self defense, I assure you. They were very polite men.’

She didn’t say anything, but she felt unnaturally angry that someone would hurt him.

She propped herself on her elbow to face him, but he kept his eyes shut.

‘I got used to this place, you know?’ she said.

Alana kissed his cheekbone and continued. ‘If we leave, we have to make feel like home all over again.’

His arm circled her waist and pulled her back down, pulling her very close to his side. ‘I don’t need a home,’ he stated.

‘I do.’

He reached to the nightstand to turn the light off and make the conversation over.

‘What is home when we have the whole world to see?’ he asked. ‘You mustn’t confine yourself to one place. You aren’t an FBI profiler anymore. You can be whoever you want.’

‘Whoever you want,’ she disagreed.

‘I know what you think, Alana. I cannot... I could not have left you the way you were. Too much effort to keep you. When I think about it now, I believe that you would have killed me. You are still your own person. Just changed.’

She sighed and understood what he meant. ‘People are still trying to find you and kill you.’ She paused. ‘Would you ever kill me?’

He smacked her ass making her take in a short breath.

‘Sleep now,’ he told her.

Hannibal kissed her hair as she settled down in his arms, safe and sound. Whatever happened, he would protect her. Hannibal knew there was one person he could protect in this life. Alana Bloom. He destroyed everything he tried to love. It betrayed him. This small woman curled to his bruised ribs was far from destroyed. He wouldn’t trade her for anything on earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter wasn't extremely long, I started writing the next one wootwoot for me!!!!!!!!  
> Also I have a cold SO I'm not at my best. I hope you enjoyed anyway!

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING Y'ALL!


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